


They Never Asked.

by vampgirltish



Category: GOT7
Genre: Death, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9171754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampgirltish/pseuds/vampgirltish
Summary: They wouldn't know.They never asked.





	

His hands are shaking. They’d never know. They’d have no earthly idea. They couldn’t ever suspect because they never asked. He’d be quiet, he’d play nice and smile. Photos plastered everywhere of his grin, his tired eyes hidden by pale colored makeup that washed him out but made everyone else happy. He’d hide behind this for as long as he’s alive--hide behind that smile, behind that same choking smile because at least then they wouldn’t know. 

They wouldn’t know.

They never asked.

_ Why did he wear black so much? Why didn’t he want as many lines, even when he never got them to begin with? Why was his dancing less spirited? Why did he seem to stop caring? _

They never asked.

They stayed late for a practice, but he’d gone back to the dorms under the claim of being sick. He’d be sick pretty soon if he had anything to say about it. Only nineteen, but holding alcohol he shouldn’t have, but they didn’t bother to question him buying alcohol. He was legally allowed to, but how he got it past his management was a whole different story. Especially after the incident in June...

That incident in June was another time like this. He wasn’t as careful that time. Drank and drank and giggled and pretended like he was having fun being drunk, running by the wet edge of the pool praying he slipped. But he didn’t. So, he had to take the lecture from the manager just like everyone else. Get told off for getting drunk, making mistakes, poor decisions, you should know better.

He wondered what the fans would think. Would they hate him for this? Would they wonder what stuff they didn’t see? Probably... There was a lot the fans didn’t see. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweat and panicking about things that didn’t matter. He pissed everyone off when he did that because the only way he could quit panicking was to go watch some show on TV, and the only TV in the dorm was in the living room. No matter how low the volume was, it would always wake up one of them.

In all this thinking, he’d downed half the bottle. It was a decently sized bottle so he was already pretty drunk. He didn’t seem to care as he laid there, staring up at the ceiling of the dorm room he’d slept in for almost a year and a half now. The room was dark, the sun setting outside and casting a warm glow into the room not unlike the familiar warm glow of alcohol in his veins and body.

He wondered if they’d notice. After it was over, at least. He’d have to see if he got the courage to go any further than getting extremely drunk. If he didn’t have that courage, his manager would yell at him again. Rightfully so, he was breaking a rule of his contract, but still... It would be surprising if they didn’t fire him after this. Kick him out. Did GOT6 have the same ring to it...? Or would they replace him with a different trainee?

Being replaced wouldn’t be any different from anything else. The rest of the guys found ways to replace their time with him. Practice, time with other friends, other plans, dinner out with family, more practice. Never time to sit down with him and watch a show or play a video game. Not even his own best friend would. It was getting exhausting.

They never asked.

They never never asked.

Why would they? There was ‘nothing’ wrong.

He finished off almost all of the alcohol before standing and on shaky, wobbly legs, making his way to the bathroom. He would decide when he got there what his next step was--vomiting everything up and laying on the floor of the linoleum, or... the next step he’d written in his journal months ago, tucked safe under his mattress where no one will read it. The walk down the hall felt like a trek up a mountain, as he stumbled over balled up sweatshirts and tripped over shoes. An ugly painting of himself from a fan leaned against the wall, he’d meant to throw it away but hadn’t had the time. The cherry red hair didn’t suit him anymore, the colorful floral-print shirt was ugly but chosen for him by the stylists. In lieu of throwing it away, it made sense in his drunken mind to put a hole through it. He stepped on it and the canvas tore apart, the paint not smudging but cracking in places. Now the others would have a reason to pitch it. He couldn’t even remember the name of the fan who sent it while he was sober, let alone while drunk... some American girl. Left a sweet letter but it was in English so he only read the words he understood. Hadn’t asked any of the others to translate it like he usually did. 

He didn’t care.

They never asked.

They never asked him about the ugly painting. They never asked him about the hidden journal, about his hours secluded in his room. They never asked.

He finally gets to the bathroom, the bottle of alcohol sloshing loudly as he stumbles his way in. He looks at himself in the mirror. Not done up this time. Bed-head, his black hair unruly, bangs separated into ugly pieces. Earrings in still, but he didn’t like them the same as he used to. A very large, stretched out shirt he probably stole from the laundry and forgot who it belonged to. No pants. His straight nose, boring dark eyes, pale pink lips that formed a pout even when he didn’t want to pout. His tired, tired eyes. He hadn’t showered in a few days, since they finally got a break in their schedule.

Couldn’t even make himself presentable for this.

He popped open the mirror to reveal the medicine cabinet that they barely used. All that was in there was aspirin and allergy medication. Taking the lids off of both, he pours some into each of their respective lids. Then, he dumps them in his mouth, chuckling a little to himself as he finishes off the alcohol and swallows away all the medication. 

Sitting down on the floor, he looks up at the ceiling for a moment before looking down and squinting at the blurry bottle, trying to read the label to pass the time. He hadn’t had the chance to research how well this would work, but maybe it would do something.

What he didn’t want was the front door to open. Hear six pairs of feet stomping in, boys yelling making his head ache even despite taking several aspirin. He took maybe fifteen of each. A half liter of... vodka, maybe? He couldn’t remember. He just asked for something strong. He felt like vomiting but he kept it down, hoping that it would go faster. Please go faster. Please. The guys are still yelling in the other room. Not wondering where he is, what he’s doing.

They never asked.

He hears Jackson’s voice, saying how he needed to use the bathroom, he’d be back. Whose bathroom would he use? Please, don’t let it be this one. Please.

Of course, just his luck. Jackson wanders in, and startles, “Oh, Yugyeom, I didn’t think you were-- wait. What?”

Confused by the bottle in his hand or the fact that he was cross eyed?

“What’s going on?”

Like he’d answer.

“Jaebum-hyung!” Jackson calls. As if Jaebum would do anything. As if any of the would, could do anything.

His vision is so blurry, he can’t focus right now. 

He hears Jaebum’s footsteps, him asking why Jackson needed help going to the bathroom. Jackson has moved closer, kneeling down next to Yugyeom whose eyes have completely gone crossed, he doesn’t know right from left.

“I think he’s drunk,” Jackson says.

“Aish...” Jaebum replies, looking over. His eyes widen at the medicine cabinet, open, all the pill bottles opened too. “Wait here, Jackson. Keep him awake.” Somehow this was something he had experience in? What did he know? What did Jackson know?

They never asked.

Jackson speaks quickly, trying to keep him from closing his eyes but  _ fuck _ , he wants to, he just wants to sleep and stop feeling gross, stop feeling like he wants to vomit.

The rest of the guys are clueless until they hear Jaebum desperately calling for an ambulance, which causes hysteria. Why? Had something happened to Jackson?  _ Jackson. Always about Jackson _ .

They never asked.

Jinyoung was talking with the managers quickly, trying to get the information from Jaebum. Youngjae was trying to calm everyone down. Telling them  _ Jackson _ is fine. Everyone was panicking and he just wanted to sleep.

“Don’t close your eyes, Gyeomie, we’re here, just- just stay awake, c’mon, stay awake--” Jackson’s pleading, speaking so quickly it makes his head hurt.

“Shhhh....” Yugyeom slurs out, blinking slowly. “I’m jus’ gonna sleep for a minute....”

“You can’t sleep, Gyeom, you can’t--” Jackson says, but Yugyeom’s already closed his eyes. Jackson scoops him up into his arms, not sure what to do as he lifts him up, hurrying into the kitchen where everyone was gathered. Jackson had never expected to carry the limp, on the verge of lifeless body of one of his brothers. Jaebum isn’t there, still on the phone, and it’s BamBam who sees first.

“Oh my god.”

The rest of them turn. Yugyeom’s cheeks are turning paler by the second, his breathing slow--still there, but slow. They began to talk about how they never knew. How they wouldn’t have expected this from Yugyeom, he’s so optimistic... 

They never asked.

That’s why they didn’t know.

An ambulance arrives, and they take him away, Jaebum and Jackson going along. The rest of them have to stay back and wait. 

The phone rings fifteen minutes after they’re taken away. It’s Jackson. His voice is strained. “Put the phone on speaker, please.”

Mark does as he’s asked. 

“I... He...”

“What?” Jinyoung says, trying to push Jackson to finish. Spit it out.

“He didn’t make it.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sorry.


End file.
